


Exit Wounds

by DahliaSheng



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda 9x03, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DahliaSheng/pseuds/DahliaSheng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda 9x03. Finding Castiel hadn't been easy, but it did nothing to prepare Dean for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Your OTP fighting..." from the Tumblr Fandom Games -
> 
> http://fandomgames.co.vu/post/71870263521/welcome-ladies-and-gentlemen-today-the-first
> 
> (I am not a tribute for the competition, but I liked the prompt so did a small ficlet for it)

Finding Castiel was supposed to be the hard part: poring over maps until his head spun and the tiny words blurred; grilling witnesses that only fleetingly remembered a man who ought to have commanded their absolute and undivided attention; combing back streets and alleyways for any sign of that familiar tousled head and bright blue eyes. He'd spent hours wracking his own brain for some memory or clue as to how the newly-mortal ex-angel would behave and move in the human world. The trepidation and worry had sat low in his gut the entire time, heavy as a stone and just as unsettling.

But he was wrong. The hard part was the difficulty he hadn't even anticipated, hadn't even seen coming. It came in the form of Ezekiel, wearing Sammy's body and giving him a cruel choice: Sam, the brother he'd gone to Hell and back for, or Castiel, the fallen angel he'd risk life and limb to save. This was the hard part. Not the frenzied searching, not the frustrating dead ends, not the worry gnawing at his insides.

_This_.

Sitting down and telling Castiel he couldn't stay; watching the myriad of emotions flash across his face: surprise, confusion, betrayal. By some divine miracle, Dean managed to keep his composure. But what was the point in that? The sound of a chair being pushed back cuts the heavy silence before he can say anything more. Cas brushes, heading straight for the door without so much as a backward glance.

And he hates that he has to hesitate, his glance sliding to Ezekiel, who stands wordless in the side hallway. His face is stern, lacking the compassion Dean is so used to seeing in his brother's features. Dean averts his eyes, making for the stairs before the angel can question him. He can feel Ezekiel's glare on his back, knows disapproval is radiating off him in waves. But he ignores it, climbing the steps two at a time and pushing open the doors with urgency.

The outside air in chilly against his skin, and the hunter blinks at the abrupt shift in lighting. It's quiet under this remote stretch of Kansas sky, and he easily spots what he's searching for.

"Cas!" Dean feels a rush of relief at the fact that the ex-angel can no long disappear at the drop of a hat. But that thought is short lived; even as a human, Castiel moves startlingly fast. He's already a considerable distance away from the bunker. "Cas!"

He breaks into a run, sprinting the last few meters to Castiel's side. "Cas, I-"

Quick as a flash, Cas turns around. It's the punch, though, that catches Dean off guard. He barely has time to register the sharp flare of pain in his jaw before he's staggering back, shocked. Despite being stripped of his Grace, Castiel's no-holds-barred approach to physical combat has not been diminished. He's fast, and a second punch glances off Dean's shoulder before the hunter can even think about defense.

"What the hell!" He's probably lucky he's not flat on his ass right now, but damn does it hurt like a bitch. Cas swings at him again; this time Dean's ready for it. Sidestepping the strike, he catches his friend around the elbow. "Look, Cas-"

The knee to his stomach comes out of nowhere, forcibly pushing the wind out of him. "Son of a bitch," he wheezed, doubling over.

Castiel's expression is thunderous, eyes wide with indignation as he snarls. "Don't you _dare_ , you ridiculous, hypocritical man-"

Dean ducked his head, barreling into the man with all his weight. Castiel tries to dodge, but Dean manages to snake an arm around his waist, dragging them both down into the dirt with a jarring thud. "Will you just-" he hissed at him, winded. "Will you just _listen_ to me!"

Castiel grunts in angry frustration. He twists and suddenly Dean finds himself staring up at the late afternoon sky.

Fingers close firmly around his throat, and Cas leans over him. "What were your exact words to me before, Dean?" His voice is low and laced thick with anger. "That we're family? That you needed me?"

Dean felt his stomach drop. "Just listen, Cas! This isn't what I wanted, okay?"

His fingers loosen just the barest amount. Stormy blue eyes narrow, and Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "Are you being forced? Do you-"

"I can't..." Dean sighs, letting his head drop against the hard ground. There's a terrific bruise forming on his jaw and his head's spinning from the fall; all of that pales in comparison to the truth he wishes to God he could tell Cas. "It's complicated." He closed his eyes, bracing himself for another hit. "I'm sorry."

Instead Castiel huffs, rolling off and getting to his feet. "No, Dean," he says lowly. "It's simple." The wind picked up a bit, chilly and cutting against their skin. "And I expected better from you."

"Cas-"

But the other man has already turned, resuming his brisk pace away from the Winchesters. Dean dragged himself up with a slight wince, trailing behind him warily. Castiel doesn't hit him again, but nor does he make any acknowledgement of his presence.

"I didn't want it this way," he starts again, voice thick. "I'm sorry, man."

Castiel's hands clench briefly, but he doesn't reply.

"Cas," he says softly, reaching out cautiously and touching his shoulder. It's enough to stop Castiel for the moment. "It's for Sam." Dean sighs, dropping his gaze. "Sammy, he-" He stopped; it's too fresh, all of it. Sam, lying broken and pale on that hospital bed. Sam, composed and ready to leave with Death.

He'd almost lost Cas, too. The image of him bloody and lifeless, silver sword protruding grotesquely from his torso, would no doubt flit its way into his nightmares. He has no doubt in his mind that the turmoil is showing on his face, despite his best efforts to keep it straight.

Castiel finally turns, something akin to understanding in his expression. "Will this keep Sam safe?"

"I don't know," he answers truthfully. And wasn't that always the case? His brother was all right for now; but there was an angel that he didn't completely trust in the mix and trouble brewing in the form of Abaddon. Safe was a relative term to all of them. "But it's his best shot."

Cas nods curtly, turning away once more. Dean tightens his grip on his shoulder. "At least let me drive you into town." The Men of Letters built their bunker smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It's a long, lonely walk back to civilization. If nothing else, he can at least spare Cas the journey. "Please."

The look Castiel fixes on him is full of so many things: confusion, resignation, apprehension. As they walk silently towards the Impala parked in the distance, Dean can only hope that he'll see understanding and forgiveness in them one day.


End file.
